


Less Than Three <3

by Robin_tCJ



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Anal Sex, Barebacking, Bottom Steve Rogers, Bottom Tony Stark, Comeplay, Comic Book Science, Fingering, M/M, M/M/M, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Rimming, Selfcest, Spitroasting, Steve Rogers is Not a Virgin, Threesome, Top Steve Rogers, Top Tony Stark, but he's never done THIS before
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2019-05-15 14:02:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14791886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robin_tCJ/pseuds/Robin_tCJ
Summary: A visit/attack from Loki leaves Tony in a very unusual predicament – there are two of him. What’s a guy to do, besides seduce himself? Seduce Captain America?... Well. Why not?This lives in the nebulous world post-Avengers, where everyone is happy and they all live in the tower together. Everything is beautiful and nothing hurts.This fic is a part of the Cap-IM Reverse Big Bang, and was inspired by/based on theamazingly beautiful art by kelsk, who is amazing and wonderful and kind and a great artist. It’s linked here and embedded in the fic. You should go heap love on it and its magnificent beauty.As usual, thanks to dap for the beta, and helping me make the shitty parts less shitty.





	Less Than Three <3

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kelslk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kelslk/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Art for Less than Three](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14793467) by [kelslk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kelslk/pseuds/kelslk). 



It’s not a call Tony wants to be on, not even the littlest bit. It’s not like it’s the first time they’ve ever faced Loki, and it’s probably not going to be the last. Honestly, Thor’s brother has gone from delusions of world domination to comic-book-villain-of-the-week at this point. And Thor has yet to explain how he keeps escaping the ‘impenetrable Asgardian prison’ they keep putting him in.

“He’s the God of Mischief, not the God of Being A Pain In My Ass,” grunts Clint as he shoots a grappling arrow at the next building over and swings down to a lower rooftop at a speed even Tony is impressed by. “Thor, did you piss in his cornflakes again? Maybe there was an atomic wedgie you’re not telling us about?”

“My brother grows restless in his exile,” Thor responds, and Tony decides the tone of his voice is less defensive than it is somewhat embarrassed. As though he hates, at this moment, to have to claim Loki as his brother.

Even though he’s adopted. Or kidnapped. Or… Tony’s not sure, he can’t remember the whole Viking Tragedy of it all.

The point is, Loki’s current scheme is just a little bit… pedestrian.

“I’ve got seven hostiles making their way up Seventh Avenue,” Natasha breaks into the comms, her voice clipped and matter-of-fact.

“Widow, I’m coming to you,” Steve answers, and he sounds almost, just barely, out of breath. He must be running at whatever ridiculous speed it takes to actually remind his muscles they need extra oxygen.

“Why did Loki bring flying slime rats with him? The little buggers are all over the place,” Clint says, and Tony, weaving in the air between the buildings along 12th, hits a couple more of them with blasts from his repulsors.

“How many are there, anyway?” Nat asks, and Tony can hear the cracks of gunfire in the background, weirdly reverbing off comms a second later.

Which is when Tony, barely out the corner of his eye, sees what’s actually going on.

Originally, he’d thought Loki had come with an army of flying slime rats, or whatever, and was releasing them in waves, but Tony watches in horror as one of them, just around the corner from his position, stops in mid-air and starts to shake and jerk. It spasms hard, and then, in the blink of an eye and with no other warning indicators, it doubles, splitting into two identical flying slime rats right in front of him.

Tony blinks stupidly at it – them – for a moment.

“You don’t see that everyday,” Clint says into the comms, his tone a little dull with shock.

“You saw it, too?” Tony checks, hoping against hope that he’d hallucinated it.

“The Splitting-of-the-Atom Revival act? Yeah, caught that,” Clint says.

“Yes! I thought these creatures looked familiar. Vardygerian swamp raptors from the Forest of A Thousand Screams,” Thor says, and now he sounds triumphant. Cheerful, even. “A mate of mine from childhood kept one as a pet.”

“What the hell, Thor?” Clint says. “What is wrong with Asgard?”

“Focus, Hawkeye,” Steve breaks in. “Thor, how do we stop them from, uh, multiplying?”

“It is their nature to split when they are defending their herd, as their instinct is to rely on safety in numbers,” Thor says into his comms. “Upon reflection, it does seem fitting that Loki would bring them here. But they are not typically so aggressive.”

“Your brother is a giant wrinkly asshole,” Clint mutters, just loud enough to be heard over the thwipping of arrows.

“Loki is quite vain, he will be quite angry when I inform him you called him wrinkled,” Thor retorts, and Tony laughs.

Unfortunately, laughing distracts him just enough that, in his hasty flight, his shoulder clips the edge of a light post. It veers him off course, and he’s forced to collide head-first with one of the swamp raptors. The impact is jarring enough that he tumbles into a landing that, if pressed later, he will swear is not a crash.

He shakily pushes himself up to his feet, trying to shake away the little cartoon birds flying around his head. A couple of blinks, and he realizes that they’re not cartoon birds, because that would be stupid, this is real life. No, they’re Vardygerian swamp raptors.

Flying little swamp rats. Fucking awesome.

They’re on him in an instant, gnarled sharp teeth and claws digging at the armour, trying to peel it off him. He hits a couple of them, blasts a couple with repulsors, but they’re swarming him, and he can’t quite get free.

“Iron Man!” Steve calls on the comms. “You okay over there?”

“‘Not aggressive,’ he says,” Tony grits out as he swings in an arc to try to dislodge the raptors. “‘We keep them as pets,’ he says.”

The sound of wrenching, squealing gold-titanium alloy is loud in his ears, but Tony doesn’t have time to do anything about his suddenly exposed elbow before one of the raptors – and why the hell are they called raptors? They have wings, sure, but that’s not a beak, that’s a goddamn muzzle – shoves its mouth into the opening and chomps down right on the meat.

“Fucker,” Tony spits out, other hand snapping around to scruff the thing by the neck. It hisses angrily at him even as he flings it against the nearest building.

“Tony!” Steve sounds strained, worried, and Tony glances up to see him barrelling toward Tony and his entourage of raptors. Steve flings the shield directly at him, and it bounces off two of the raptors before Steve grabs it out of the air, colliding with Tony and rolling them, somersaulting out of the grip of the swarm of raptors.

“Thor!” Clint hollers. “We need a better plan that killing them one at a time!”

Hulk, in the distance, roars.

Tony’s whole body feels like it’s on fire. His elbow is throbbing, hot and swollen and itchy, and his vision is swimming.

“Thor, buddy?” he says into the comm, and his voice is hoarse, strained.

“Yes, Iron Man?”

“What, uh, what kind of damage can these things do if they bite you?”

“That would be most concerning, Iron Man, as Vardygerian swamp raptors have a very potent venom. You should avoid their mouths at all costs.”

Tony’s head pounds, heavy and full of cotton. Too heavy to hold up, so he lets it flop to the ground. He’s dimly aware of Steve above him, releasing the catches of the faceplate, trying to remove the armour around his left arm where he’d been bitten. There’s shouting, and Steve’s voice is panicked and worried.

But it doesn’t matter, though, because Tony’s had a long day, and this is… this is stupid. He doesn’t like swamp raptors, he decides, as he lapses into unconsciousness.

 

+++++

 

Tony wakes up to the sound of yelling. It takes him a few moments to recognize that it’s Steve’s voice, because he doesn’t think he’s ever heard Steve this angry.

“– should have warned us,” Steve is shouting. “None of us should have been out here unprotected.”

“Of all of us here, Stark was the one most well-protected!” Thor booms back, and it really is a boom. “I am not to blame for Loki’s attack, nor am I to blame for Tony’s predicament.”

Steve makes a grinding sound of frustration, and it makes Tony consider opening his eyes. He really does like to watch Steve when he gets all angry and righteous. It’s very patriotic. And also hot.

But his head is still swimming, so he keeps them closed for now.

“I know that, dammit,” Steve says, and his tone is still angry, but resigned, too. “I’m just – how the hell do we fix this?”

“What’s the rush? I mean, it could end up being pretty handy in a fight.” That’s Clint’s voice. It’s followed up by the distinctly recognizable sound of the back of his head meeting the palm of Natasha’s hand, at speed.

“Tony, are you okay?” That one’s Bruce, which means Tony’s been out long enough for Hulk to calm down and change back. It’s only slightly alarming. Of course, the fact that they all seem to be hanging around him means they’ve finished off the raptors, too. So that’s nice.

He opens his mouth to respond, despite the cottony feel of his mouth, but he doesn’t get a chance.

“My head feels like someone took a pick axe to it. Christ. Does anyone else taste chalk? Just me?”

Tony shoots up into a seated position fast at that one. Most people have a hard time recognizing their own voice, but Tony has spent most of his life giving televised interviews, so he’s intimately familiar with the tone and timbre of his own words.

And that answer? He hadn’t given it – but it had come out in his voice.

He opens his eyes and flicks his eyes around, trying to spot the source of the words. Steve whirls as soon as Tony moves, and then he’s right there, at his side, a comforting hand on Tony’s shoulder.

“Don’t move too fast,” he says. “Just stay calm.”

Steve glances back over his shoulder, looking torn for some reason, so Tony lifts his chin so he can peek over as well.

And there, being helped to his feet by Bruce, by his Brucie-Bear, is someone who looks exactly like Tony. They’re even dressed the same. Everything is the same, right down to the lines of his goatee to the sluggishly bleeding bite wound on his elbow.

“What the fuck?” Tony says, trying to scramble to his feet. It makes his head throb, but it doesn’t matter – there’s a goddamned imposter wearing his fucking face and his whole team could be in danger! Hadn’t Thor told them about that weird alien race of shapeshifters? The Scowls or something? That could be a Scowl – Scab? Scrub? – taking over his face and probably here to enslave Earth!

“Tony, calm down,” Steve says, but even as he says it, the alien jerks out of Bruce’s hold and rushes at Steve and Tony, looking determined and violent. Tony doesn’t even have time to shrink back before Steve is putting himself between them, one hand out to block Tony protectively, the other hand in front of him to stop the alien.

The look on the alien’s face is … hurt? Betrayal? But that doesn’t make sense.

“Just stop,” Steve says. “Both of you, stop and let Thor explain.”

Tony and his doppelganger both turn to stare at Thor, eerily in synch. Thor is standing off to the side, chin up and shoulders back in that way he gets when he knows someone is about to get annoyed at him.

“First, let me say how glad I am that you’re well, Tony. Er. Tonys.”

Tony glances back at his doppelganger again, and they make eye contact for a second before they both look back at Thor. Tony starts to feel a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach.

“Thor.” Natasha crosses her arms in front of her chest and gives Thor a terrifyingly convincing look.

Thor somehow straightens up further, and Tony sees the way he adjusts his grip on Mjolnir, as though he’s nervous. Which, for Thor, is an unusual state.

“I regret that you were bitten by one of the swamp raptors,” Thor bites out. “While their venom is not deadly, it does have somewhat unusual effects.”

“Unusual effects?” asks the doppelganger.

“I am unsure why my brother would bring them to Midgard knowing this. However, the effects can be reversed with a dose of the Vardygerian swamp raptor anti-venom, so that’s good news!”

“What kind of effects?” Tony asks, knowing the answer already. And hating it.

“The swamp raptors are able to double and divide their cells evenly at will, and instantly,” Thor says, and now he’s starting to get an expression of chagrin on his face. “Their venom, upon delivery, causes that same division in their … victim.”

Tony looks back at his doppelganger, and sees the look of horror on his face to match Tony’s own.

“So you’re not a Scrub?” Tony says, his voice small. His doppelganger blinks at him for a long moment.

“Do you mean Skrull?” he says.

“I don’t know, is that the shapeshifting alien Thor told us about?”

“Yes,” Other!Tony says. “They’re called Skrulls.”

“Whatever. You’re not one, then.” This time, Tony makes it a statement instead of a question, because the truth is he knows the answer. Thor had just told them.

“Nope,” Other!Tony says.

“Hangin’ out the passenger’s side,” Clint sings under his breath, like an asshole, before the back of Natasha’s hand smacks against his chest. By the ‘oof’ sound he makes, Tony hopes she hit him pretty hard.

“So,” Bruce says, trying to sound cheerful. “Until we manage to fix this, there are now two Tony Starks in the world.”

“Oh, God,” Natasha says, quirking an eyebrow. “We’re doomed.”

“It’s going to be fine,” Steve says, tone decisive. “Thor, where do we get the anti-venom?”

“Asgard,” he says simply, and Steve blinks at him for a long moment. Thor stares right back. “There is no time limit on administering the anti-venom,” he says. “Once the two victims receive a dose, their bodies will melt back together into one.”

Tony rears back in horror. “Melt?!”

“Well, not literally melt,” Thor starts.

“You’re damn right, not literally!”

“Guys, calm down!” Steve snaps. He turns back to Thor. “How long will it take you to get it?”

“I can have it here within a fortnight!” Thor says proudly.

“Two weeks?” Tony snaps, ignoring the high pitch of panic in his voice. “Is that the best you can do?”

Thor looks annoyed again. “Vardygerian swamp raptor anti-venom is difficult to create, and only the best healers in Asgard are trained with the instructions and recipe. It is very rare!”

“What do Asgardians usually do when they’re bitten by a swamp raptor?” Clint asks.

“Ordinarily, nothing. There is not the level of stigma about raptor venom effects in Asgard that there is here.”

“Thor.” Steve sounds even more annoyed now. “Would it be fair to assume the effects would be different on a human than an Asgardian?”

“Most certainly,” Thor agrees.

“Then how can you be sure there’s no time limit for Tony?” asks Natasha. “Maybe an Asgardian can live split in two indefinitely, but there might actually be a problem with that on Tony.”

“Oh, she really is the smartest of all of you.”

Tony’s head whips around at the sound of that voice.

Loki is, at least, disarmed and disabled. Someone – Hulk or Thor, probably – has wrapped him up in a lamp post, coiling it around him and immobilizing him. He looks the way he usually does when the Avengers manage to capture him. Smug, but resigned to his fate.

Not that it matters, because the asshole keeps coming back. He’s escaped and come back at least seven times, at Tony’s last count.

Steve lets go of Tony’s shoulder and gets in Loki’s face, fists balled at his sides as he glares menacingly. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Loki smirks, looking relaxed. “The human body is too weak to cope with the venom of a Vardygerian swamp raptor,” he says. “It’s a slow-acting poison, but it is still a poison. Asgardians are strong enough to withstand its effects, but humans … well, you are all so very fragile.”

Steve shares a worried glance with Bruce, and Thor’s face turns cloudy and enraged. It’s definitely his God of Thunder face.

“If Mr. Stark doesn’t receive the anti-venom within two weeks, it will be too late. The fragile soul of a human cannot bear to be torn apart for so long. If he is not cured and the two halves reunited, both halves will wither and die.”

Steve’s fist arcs up like a rocket, hitting Loki square in the face. His head snaps back, but after a moment he lifts it back up to meet Steve’s eyes, grinning.

Thor is next, up in Loki’s face and grabbing him by the scruff of the neck. “You have gone too far, brother.”

Loki rolls his eyes.

Thor turns to the other Avengers, then his eyes alight on Tony and, well, the other Tony.

“My sincerest apologies, my friends. I shall take Loki back to Asgard with most haste, and shall endeavour to retrieve the anti-venom and bring it back to you.”

Steve looks terrified. “Hurry,” he says, finally, glancing back at both Tonys. “You have to go now.”

Thor nods, and then he’s raising Mjolnir above his head and calling for Heimdall to give him – and his prisoner – a ride.

 

+++++

 

The thing Steve is struggling with the most – well, to be honest it changes from moment to moment, but the thing he’s struggling with the most right now – is how to deal with two Tonys in his mind. He confuses himself every time he tries to think of either of them. He knows he can’t keep calling them ‘this Tony’ or ‘that Tony’, and they’re identical, even down to their clothing, so he has no descriptors to separate them.

He does not understand why their clothing is identical. It doesn’t make any sense – an alien creature’s venom creating a duplicate of a person is already far fetched enough, but to then turn around and have to accept that the venom in that person’s blood also duplicated their clothes? But not, somehow, the Iron Man suit? One Tony is wearing the armour, and one Tony is just wearing a duplicate of the black, form-fitting undersuit, and Steve doesn’t understand it. He’s starting to get why Tony hates magic so much.

And he really, really needs to not think about what might have happened if the venom’s effects didn’t include clothing duplication, because then there would be a naked Tony, and Steve is plenty distracted enough without having to deal with the total brain shut-down that would cause him.

Steve has enough trouble as it is, dealing with his unwelcome attraction to Tony. Sure, he knows it’s not illegal anymore. He’d read on the internet about the social advances over the years he was frozen in the ice, about the LGBTQ community, and figured out where, exactly, he fits on the spectrum, but that doesn’t make it any easier to deal with. Tony’s straight, and Steve’s not exactly straight, and they’re Avengers. They’re on a team that spends some days being the only barrier between Earth and Total Destruction, and Steve’s little unrequited crush is insignificant in the grand scheme of things.

It will eventually go away, he’s sure. But in the meantime, thoughts of Tony, naked and on display… well, they’re not helping.

“So which one is Tony One, and which is Tony Two?” Clint asks as they file into the quinjet.

Both Tonys give each other the once-over, then turn back to Clint and answer him in perfect, creepy unison. “I’m Tony One,” they both say.

The look on Clint’s face is a mixture of alarm and realization. “Oh God, you’re going to fuck with us until Thor gets back, aren’t you?”

“Constantly,” the two Tonys chorus.

Clint stands there for a moment, mouth agape, before he strides to the cockpit and sits down in the pilot’s chair. “Cap, I want you to know, this is me putting in for leave. What did Thor say, two weeks? I’m taking leave for two weeks.”

“Leave denied,” Steve responds, not looking up from where he’s storing some of his external armour in his locker in the back area. Most of his suit, he’ll take back into the tower, but there are parts he tends to leave on the jet, like his gloves and his outer-armour and some of his weapons harnesses.

Tony – the Tony in the undersuit only – pops open his own locker beside Steve’s, and pulls out a pair of pants and a T-shirt, slipping them both on over his undersuit. Steve very deliberately keeps his eyes on his own locker, and doesn’t watch Tony get dressed.

“Anything I should know about?” he asks Tony, after a moment.

Tony raises an eyebrow at him, but doesn’t say anything.

“You two – you and the other… Can you, I don’t know, read each other’s thoughts? Share emotions? Are you, um, connected?”

Tony crosses his arms and leans against the row of lockers. “Mm, no. As much fun as it would be to be telepathically linked to my own doppelganger, there’s no connection there. On the other hand, he’s me, and I’m him, so we’re both on the same wavelength,” Tony says. “I know what he’s going to say or do because it’s what I would say or do.”

“You gonna be okay with it?” Steve asks, softly. “Both of you?”

Tony shrugs noncommittally. “Well, I always thought it would be nice if there were two of me, so I could spend all my time in the workshop, or slip out to Aruba for a holiday, or, really, anything but board meetings, but the other me also hates board meetings, so I’m not sure that would work.”

Steve smirks a little. “So what’s the plan?”

“Well, neither of us wants to do the S.I. circuit, and this little body-double situation might be hard to explain to the press, so I think we need to lay low.”

“Seems like a sound plan.”

“Plus, if the press gets wind of this, Pepper will murder me – both of us – in our sleep, because she’s in the middle of gearing up for a product launch and this is not the good kind of publicity.”

“Oh, good, it will be so nice to have you wandering around the tower 24-7 for the next two weeks,” Natasha says, deadpan, as she strips off her own gloves and jacket, slipping them into her locker with an alarming amount of knives taken out of various hidden pockets.

“And two of me to do it,” pipes up the other Tony, from where he’s spinning in a chair beside Bruce. Bruce’s headphones are on, and Steve almost wishes he could put on noise-cancelling headphones and close his eyes and not have to deal with any of this right now.

“Seriously, Cap, I will trade in some bank time. I really, really want to go on leave. Starting now.”

“No, Clint,” Steve says, still not looking his way. “You don’t even have bank time.”

Clint is already pulling the jet into the tower’s hangar, dropping them into a smooth, seamless landing. Natasha is the first out the door, striding through the hangar and to the elevator – which she steps into and closes the door, ensuring she won’t have to share it with anyone as she heads toward the residential floors.

Clint stays back, stripping out of his field gear and checking his bow and equipment for maintenance requirements, while the rest of them work toward leaving the jet as well. There’s a part of Steve, masochistic and childish, that wants to see how JARVIS reacts to the sudden duplication of his creator, so he makes sure to slow himself enough to leave the jet at the same time as the two Tonys.

“Welcome back, Avengers,” JARVIS says from the ceiling. He pauses for a moment. “Sir, there appears to be an anomaly in my sensors. I suggest a full diagnostic.”

Armoured Tony steps into the bot pad, where the mechanical arms and hands will strip the armour off him for maintenance. As he does, he winks at the other Tony. “Nah, J, you’re good. There was an alien venom incident, there are two of us until Thor gets back from Asgard.”

“I… see.”

“Fire up the biochemics lab, though, we’re going to play with science this afternoon.”

“Understood, Sir.”

Unarmoured Tony sidles up to Bruce in that mock-flirtatious way he does all the time to everyone but Steve (not that he’s bitter). “You comin’, science bro?”

Bruce’s eyes are tired, but still sparking with interest.

“I’ve got snacks,” Tony says as invitingly as possible. Bruce’s blood sugar tends to plummet after a Hulk transformation, so more often than not he’ll go wherever the food is whenever they get home.

“I wonder if you still have some of the venom in your bloodstream?” Bruce muses as the three of them wander toward the elevator together. Steve falls in behind them, intent on getting to his own floor for a shower and some calories of his own.

“And, is the venom in both our bloodstreams? Or just the original?”

“Oh, that’s a good point!” Bruce says excitedly, and Steve rolls his eyes a little fondly. He knows he’s lost the three of them to a science binge for the next day or so.

 

+++++

 

It’s really fucking weird to look across the room and see himself punching numbers and factors into a holo-board for JARVIS, but also sitting in a chair while Bruce efficiently draws a couple vials of blood from his arm. It’s like Tony’s outside his body, watching it do things he’s not telling it to do, but at the same time he can make his body do what he wants, and he’s inside it, and everything is normal.

Tony is used to weird.  He’d had a bad acid trip in college, once, that had him seeing gremlins in the liquor cabinet. His favourite science buddy is a guy who performed experiments on himself and now he turns into a giant, green rage monster. He’d fought with said monster, a Norse god, two SHIELD agents and the man whose existence had taught him about jealous hatred and his own very fluid sexuality while presumed dead, then turned out to be not so dead, and who is, now, several years younger than Tony while also being 90-something. For Tony Stark, ‘weird’ is relative. ‘Weird’ is subjective. ‘Weird’ is the new black.

But this? This is really fucking weird. He feels jittery and nervous, his fingers itching for a drink more than they have in a long time. The other version of him looks calm and composed.

While the centrifuge is separating their bloodwork, they decide to make it easier on everyone when it comes to telling them apart. Well, Bruce decides they need to. Tony acquiesces when Bruce points out that it will probably freak Barton out more that they don’t intend to mess with him by using their identical looks. He’ll spend every waking moment on edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

The Tony currently in the chair having his blood drawn will be ‘Tony’, and the other him will be ‘Anthony’. As a trade-off for getting to keep the shortened name, Tony will shave. Not entirely, as that’s just unpalatable, but Anthony will keep the manicured, unique beard that flatters his whole jaw line and is the quintessential identifier of ‘Tony Stark’, and Tony will shave down the sides of his into a more generic goatee, more in the aesthetic of a community college English Lit professor. Eugh. Bruce had suggested he shave the whole thing off, but Tony had had a beard since he’d taken on the role of CEO of Stark Industries and needed to look older than he was so the board would take him seriously. He hasn’t been clean shaven since he was 22 years old. He’s not about to start now.

While he’s working on the new sad and boring shape of his facial hair, Bruce analyzes their blood under a high-powered microscope. Anthony sits beside him, lounging on a workbench while he waits. He seems so…. Natural. Like he belongs here — which, okay obviously he does, this is his damned lab after all — but it’s more than that. It’s like he’s not even phased by what’s happening. Or maybe he is and he’s just good at hiding it. Tony, himself, feels like he’s too big for his skin, like everything is tight and awkward and strange, but Anthony is just… here.

Tony turns back to his shaving mirror and tries not to think about it.

“Well, in a surprise twist to absolutely nobody, you’re identical,” Bruce says, sitting back from the microscope and running a hand through his floppy curls. He’s overdue for a haircut, which Tony privately thinks is yet another not-so-surprising twist. Bruce pushes his stool far enough away from the bench that he can face both Anthony and Tony. “Nothing to note in the bloodwork. No trace of the Vardygerian venom. No difference in blood type. The DNA sequences are the same.”

“So… that’s boring,” says Anthony, letting his head drop back melodramatically.

Bruce looks at him flatly. “Sorry I can’t make the results do cartwheels for you.”

“You should be,” Anthony says.

“So, what, that’s it? Science achieved, whistling sound, kaboom?” Tony says, wiping shaving soap off his face. His jaw feels cold already. This was a terrible plan.

“There’s a few more tests we can run, but I imagine they’ll all have the same result. Identical copy, no way of telling which is the ‘original’ and which is the copy because, well, the answer is both and neither.”

Tony sighs.

Anthony sits up then, moving quickly and with purpose. Like he’s had an idea. “Brain scans!”

Bruce blinks at him. “You don’t have an MRI. Or a PET scanner.”

“You keep telling yourself that, Big Green.”

Bruce screws up his face, and Tony can’t tell if it’s because of the nickname, or because he doesn’t want there to be a PET scanner in the lab. For some reason.

Pfft.

“Of course you do.”

“Of course I do,” agrees Anthony.

The process is quick. They take turns in the machine, while Bruce runs the controls. JARVIS puts the results up side by side when it’s done.

Tony, who is brilliant and a certified genius with seven doctorates under his belt, and who built a particle accelerator in, like, two days and synthesized a new element from scratch, stares at it stupidly for long moments.

The brain on the right, which is his, apparently, has big sections of pink and yellow and green. The brain on the left, which is Anthony’s, also has big sections of pink and yellow and green.

Tony looks over at Anthony, and is relieved to find that he, too, is staring blankly at the two images.

“Wow,” breathes Bruce, sounding awed. “Incredible.”

Tony and Anthony exchange a look. The scans mean absolutely nothing to him.

“Yeah. Super neat. How those, um, colours really don’t go together,” Tony says, finally.

Bruce glances at him, blinking, then back at the two scans. “I was just reading about this. Correlation isn’t causation, of course, but this is really interesting. See, here, where Tony’s amygdala is this green blob, here?” He uses a stylus to point at the hologram, then aims it over at the other scan. “On Anthony’s, it’s smaller. The amygdala is where the brain processes negative effects. Threat, punishment, that kind of thing. That’s pessimism, fear, all the negative emotions you feel when you, um, don’t feel like you deserve nice things.”

Tony’s face heats a little, but at least Bruce’s tone starts to falter at the end, like he realizes what he’s saying is a little bit humiliating for Tony. And maybe a little too on the nose.

It doesn’t stop him, though, because it’s Bruce and it’s science and it’s the brain, so Bruce just moves over to a yellow blob on Anthony’s scan.

“This, here, the lateral prefrontal cortex. It’s large on both scans, larger than average. That’s the part of the brain that processes spatial information, language, all kinds of cognition. It makes sense it would be large for both of you. It’s also where the brain plans behavior, where the voluntary controls are. It’s the conscientiousness area of the brain. See how Tony’s is slightly larger? It makes sense you’d both have the same cognitive function and intelligence, but the slight size difference suggests that Tony might be more conscientious than Anthony. More reserved, more forethought, that kind of thing.

“But this… wow, this is impressive,” Bruce says, somehow managing to interrupt himself with a new train of thought.

Anthony and Tony share another glance.

“See the medial orbitofrontal cortex, here? It’s massive for Anthony, but it’s just this small area over here on Tony’s. This is the region of the brain that processes reward information – it’s basically your extraversion to introversion scale. The bigger it is, the more extraverted a person. I’d think for both of you, it would have been large, but there must be enough of a difference in your personalities that Tony doesn’t have that same trait. He’s more introverted, can’t process rewards as well – they aren’t worth the risk. But his right supramarginal gyrus, here, in the front, it’s larger, so he’s got more empathy than Anthony.”

“So you’re saying that everything about us is the same, down to the DNA sequence, but we have different personalities?” Anthony sounds unsure, like he thinks it’s the answer but doesn’t like it.

“Not different personalities, per se. More like the balance of traits has shifted. You both have strong cognition, you’ve both been shaped by the same feelings and memories and events, but where one of you is more sarcastic, the other will be more earnest. One more confident, one more reserved. One more quick to anger, the other calmer.”

Tony blinks a little, his stomach sinking. It would explain why Anthony seems like he’s so comfortable in his own skin, why his posture and body language are so much more confident and self-assured. Tony doesn’t feel that way, and, if he’s honest, knows the feeling of not belonging, the feeling of not quite measuring up, is stronger for him today than it usually is. The feeling of accomplishment and swagger he usually feels in his lab, because he’s a badass science nerd, is missing.

Eugh. He’s the sad, pathetic version of Tony Stark. Gross.

 

+++++

 

Eventually, Anthony tires of watching Bruce geek out about brain scans and personality traits. They’ve established that there’s nothing they can do, scientifically, to speed up the process of putting everything back to normal. They’ll have to wait for Thor to come back. Anthony can’t see any reason why they should have to do that waiting in the lab.

“Come on, hottest guy in the room,” Anthony says, walking away from Bruce and grabbing Tony by the elbow. He leads Tony to the elevator. “We’ve got a date with the Xbox and a large bottle of scotch.”

He sits Tony down on the sofa in the rec room on the common floor. He knows it will take only minutes, once he sends out the tournament alert, for others to join them there, in the room.

“J, send out a call for a Halo tournament,” he says, pouring out two glasses of scotch. “And order up some pizzas.”

“The usual order, sir?”

“I’d say no, because there’s no Thor tonight, but there’s also two of me, so let’s do it. If there’s some left, we’ll have it for breakfast.”

“I’ve placed the order, sir, and sent out the Halo alert. So far Agents Barton and Romanoff have indicated they cannot wait to, quote: ‘fuck you up’, Dr. Banner is in the process of brewing a pot of tea, and Captain Rogers will join you when he’s finished in the gym.”

“He’s in the gym again? Didn’t we just have a major battle today? What does he need a workout for?” asks Tony, grabbing a custom red and gold controller off the media stand and settling back on the couch.

“Captain Rogers is in the process of attempting to destroy his third punching bag this evening,” Jarvis says. Anthony sighs. If Steve is destroying punching bags, he’s having a rough night. The weirdest part, really, is that it’s only around eight. Usually Steve goes after the bags at around two in the morning.

“Well, tell him to hurry up, I need a wingman to help me keep Hot Spy vs Slightly Hotter Spy at bay,” Anthony says.

“I call Slightly Hotter Spy,” Clint says, walking in with a six-pack of beer. Anthony shudders a little at the label on the side of the packaging. He’s a billionaire, financing a team of superheroes, and they all live in a tower in Midtown, and Clint is drinking Budweiser. From a can.

“In your dreams,” Anthony says without looking up. “No one who drinks Budweiser gets to be the Slightly Hotter anything. I’m thinking of downgrading you to Circus Carnie Spy based on that alone.”

Clint flutters his eyelashes and puckers his lips to smooch the air as he flops down on the couch next to Tony. “Go fuck yourself, evil twin,” he says cheerfully.

Anthony opens his mouth to make a wisecrack right back, but then he stops.

Go fuck yourself.

Oh. Oh.

He… he could handle that. How had he not thought of that?

A slow smile spreads across Anthony’s face as he lets his eyes rove up and down Tony’s – his – body.

 

+++++

 

When Anthony had decided to seduce his identical counterpart, he hadn’t really thought through just how difficult it might be to seduce a version of himself that is so self-deprecating and defensive. Tony bristles and snaps whenever Anthony makes a comment about his looks, his body, all of it. It takes him more than a week to decide he’s done playing the long game.

He’s tried subtle, and it’s gotten him nowhere. Luckily, Anthony can be reasonably sure that Tony will find as much appeal in the idea of a little self-love as he does. Unless, of course, Tony got the ‘completely straight’ part of their personality.

Anthony’s fairly certain that’s not it when he catches Tony checking out Steve’s ass in thin pyjama pants one morning.

Of course, the most interesting part of that little exchange is when Tony turns back to his coffee, leaning over the breakfast bar to fork another bite of gluten free waffle into his mouth, and Steve turns and checks out Tony’s ass.

Huh.

Anthony watches, then, for the next few days, and he sees it. Micro expressions and subtle, furtive glances in Tony’s direction, in Anthony’s direction. He watches Steve’s behaviour closely, and it doesn’t look new. It doesn’t look like Steve, himself, is surprised at his actions, or like he’s trying it out for the first time.

Steve is checking Tony – Anthony – both of them – out. Regularly.

Anthony wonders why he hadn’t noticed it before. Is it because Tony has all the insecure parts of their personality right now, and Anthony doesn’t? He does feel confident and content, doesn’t have all the vibrating nervous energy he’s used to having half the time.

Had he really been squandering the possibility that Steve would be into him by being self-conscious?

Well, Anthony decides, he’s going to be putting an end to that. The first thing he’s going to do when there’s only one of him, is crawl into Steve’s lap and tell Steve exactly what Captain Santa can get him for Christmas. And where to tie the bow.

In the meantime, though, he’s still got that other thing he wants to try. He’s about to experience exactly what kind of lover he is.

He’s never been known for his subtlety, has Anthony Edward Stark, and there’s no point changing now.

He implements his plan on a quiet day. Most of the Avengers are busy with either target practice or whatever creepy secretive things Natasha does in her downtime, meaning Anthony and Tony have been playing down in the workshop. Having two brains working the same problems, four hands in addition to the bots, is like a dream come true. The modifications they’re able to do to the suit, to Clint’s trick arrows, to flash gadgets and widow’s bites and everything else, are twice as fast and at least three times cooler. Between Tony’s on-edge vibrating nervousness and Anthony’s cool, collected thought process, some of the things they come up with are cutting-edge in a way Anthony hasn’t done in years.

It makes him wonder if they should ever turn back into one person at all.

But, no. That’s a bad idea. All the more reason to make the most of it now, while he can.

Tony pushes away from the bench, rubbing at his eyes tiredly. He pours a cup of coffee and then goes to sink into the sofa in the workshop. It’s soft, comfortable and plush – Tony has spent more than one night over the years crashing on it to get a few hours of sleep while a simulation or a rendering happens around him.

Anthony eyes him for a moment, and with a mental shrug decides that now is as good a time as any.

“Do you remember last week, when Clint told you to go fuck yourself?”

“I remember it last week, I remember it the week before – honestly, he tells me to go fuck myself at least seven times a month, so at this point I barely notice.”

“True. But, you know, there’s one very, very big difference between last week and all those other times.”

Tony takes another sip of his coffee and raises his eyebrows at Anthony in question.

“Now, you actually can,” Anthony says, grinning wickedly.

Tony chokes on his coffee, wet rattling coughs filling the otherwise silent workshop as he leans to the side to set the mug down on the table.

“Um, what?”

“You can’t tell me you haven’t thought about it,” Anthony says, stalking across the workshop with as much lithe grace as he can muster. He gives Tony another predatory grin. “What it would be like? We’re identical, Tony. We know one another’s bodies like our own, because they are. I would know exactly how to make you writhe and scream and beg. I can take you apart, and put you back together again, with almost no effort at all.”

Tony’s eyes are dilating, his breath coming in harsh pants already. Anthony reaches him, then slowly climbs onto the couch to straddle Tony’s lap. He lets his hands caress and take hold of Tony’s face, buried in his hair, and then hesitates for just a second – not because he’s unsure, because he can already feel Tony’s erection hard under his ass, but to draw out the anticipation.

Tony gives a full body shudder, and then Anthony tips his head down to brush his lips against Tony’s. They’re soft, sipping kisses at first, just the light touch of a tease, until Tony lets out a quiet moan. Anthony takes it as agreement, and he delves more deeply into the kiss, his tongue snaking out to taste Tony’s mouth.

It tastes like nothing and everything at the same time. It tastes the same as Anthony’s mouth, but it feels different. It’s almost as if he can feel his own tongue exploring his own mouth, even though he knows he can’t – they’d tested that, there was no reason to think there was a telepathic sensation bond between them.

Tony’s hands grip into the sides of Anthony’s ribcage as he kisses Anthony back. Tony’s kisses are slightly more passive than Anthony’s, but they’re also more sweet, slow and generous.

Anthony writhes on Tony’s lap, smoothly shifting his hips to rock down against Tony’s erection, feeling the restriction of his own jeans in a way that is both unpleasant and the sweetest torture.

Anthony lets his hand slide down Tony’s chest, over the reactor, over ribs and sloping muscles, until he can fit his palm between them, pressing firmly against the bulge in Tony’s jeans.

Tony moans, hips jerking up, fingers clawing at Anthony’s side. His kisses grow more fierce, harder and sloppier, and Anthony gives a dark little chuckle. This is definitely going to be the most fun he’s had in a long time.

Anthony shifts his weight to the side, rolling and dragging Tony with him so that suddenly Tony is on top, knees on either side of Anthony’s lap, and Anthony has to reach up to keep kissing him. Tony grinds down against Anthony, hard, hands roaming all over his chest and torso.

Anthony’s mouth starts to nip trailing little kisses along Tony’s jaw, to the hinge of it, and he sucks an earlobe into his mouth, catching it in his teeth and letting his tongue swipe up the flesh of it. Tony shudders again, and Anthony is about to say something, about to suggest they get a little more naked, when the unmistakable sound of the workshop door whooshing open interrupts him.

Tony and Anthony break apart, faces jerking toward the door to see who’s come in.

It’s Steve. Oh, shit, it’s Steve, and his mouth is hanging open in shock as his eyes flick back and forth between them.

Tony lurches back, scrambling to get off Anthony’s lap, but Anthony grips him at the waist and holds him close. Apparently Tony hasn’t seen the glances – but that makes sense.

“Hey, Cap,” Anthony says, his voice a purr. He smirks, flicking his tongue out to lick at his kiss-swollen lips.

“Oh, god, I’m really – sorry, I should have knocked – sorry, sorry – I can, um, I can go –” Steve stammers. He’s backing toward the door again, but his eyes are burning, roving over the tableau in front of him.

“Fuck, Steve, this isn’t –” Tony starts.

“This is exactly what it looks like,” Anthony says, interrupting Tony. He lets his hand brush up Tony’s chest to tweak at a nipple, and Tony can’t stop the hiss of air he sucks in through his teeth.

“Oh, god,” Steve says, and this time, it’s a little broken. Less embarrassed, more of a moan. Anthony grinds his hips up into Tony’s ass, moans a little himself. Steve is definitely interested.

“Would you like to join us?”

Tony’s head whips around to stare at Anthony in horror, but Anthony is just watching Steve’s face, watching want war with propriety. The decision flickers over Steve’s face, and Anthony sees his breath speed up, sees his whole body tense and lean forward a little, as though the only thing stopping him from storming across the room to join them is his mind. Anthony can see how torn he is, how much he wants to take that step forward, but also wants to turn on his heel and high-tail it out of there as fast as he can go.

“What are you –” Tony tries, like he doesn’t understand, like he can’t even fathom where this could be going. Like it doesn’t occur to him that this is a thing that could happen. That they could have. Anthony cuts him off with another tweak of his nipple, sharper this time.

“You’d be more than welcome, Steve. We’d love to take care of you.” He tries to make it filthy, tries to put as much innuendo into his tone as he can manage. Tony stares at Anthony, dumbfounded.

“Oh, god,” Steve repeats, and this time it’s all breathy moan, no hesitation, no doubt. Tony’s head whips back to Steve, and if Anthony weren’t dealing with the arduous task of trying to seduce two men at the same time, he would laugh at the look on Tony’s face.

Tony finally takes the hint, though, after a moment of hesitation. Now that it’s metaphorically bludgeoning him over the head. He shifts to the side, pulling himself off Anthony’s lap. Anthony glances at him, sad for the loss of the weight and pressure, but knowing exactly what he’d like to do next. He shares a look with Tony, and it’s like a silent communication that passes between them in the blink of an eye.

They are, of course, the same person. They’re on the same wavelength. They both want Steve.

As one, they rise from the couch, stalking across the room toward Steve. Even Tony’s gait is graceful and confident now, as though the neuroses that have been plaguing him since the split are melting away under the weight of his desire for Steve – and the weight of the knowledge that Steve desires him, too. Steve stands in the middle of the room, frozen and unmoving, like a skittish deer, as Tony and Anthony approach him.

Anthony gets in close, presses himself against Steve’s back, nuzzles his chin on the back of Steve’s shoulder. Tony crowds against Steve at the front, pressing their bodies together from chest to knees. Steve’s whole body shivers at the contact, the heat pressing against him on both sides, and he lets out an honest-to-god whimper when Tony tilts his face up to lick a hot, wet line up the side of Steve’s throat.

 

+++++

 

Steve is pretty sure, now, that he’s still falling into a frozen black ocean in a plane in 1943. Sure, it had seemed like he’d woken up in the future and fought aliens and saved the world, and he could have handled that, but this? This thing where there are two Tony Starks pressed up against him, bodies lithe and warm and solid – this can’t be real. It has to be a dream.

Tony – the one they’ve been calling ‘Tony’, anyway – slides his hand up to the side of Steve’s face, takes hold of his cheeks, and then presses his lips to Steve’s.

It’s like fireworks and bombs and riding the Cyclone at Coney Island all at the same time. Having Tony so close to him, feeling the heat from his skin – it’s more than he’d expected. He’s spent so long watching Tony from afar, watching his eyes sparkle when he laughs, the way his hands are always fiddling with something – a tablet, a screwdriver, a pen cap. He’s never still, always on edge. But now, pressed against Steve, Tony is still. Still, and precious, and Steve loves him so much he can hardly stand it. His head spins, his heart pounds, and his stomach lurches with butterflies as Tony’s lips cover his, sliding over his mouth slickly, his tongue slipping out to tease at the seam of Steve’s lips. It’s an endless, perfect, nothing-else-will-ever-feel-like-this kiss, and it makes Steve’s knees turn to water.

He feels blunt teeth lock on the back of his neck, into the trapezius, and graceful, long fingers slide up inside the front of his T-shirt, and he doesn’t even know how to categorize what’s happening, other than too much and not enough. It’s an incredible, unimaginable dream, this fantasy that he never would have even thought could be possible. But it’s happening. He’s surrounded by warm skin, hot breath, and the wiry, sinewy muscle of long days using tools.

Tony breaks away, seemingly ignoring the sound of loss that rips its way out of Steve’s throat, and then he’s being turned to the side, Anthony’s mouth slotting itself over his. It’s the same, but it’s not at all similar. The lips are the same, his mouth tastes the same – coffee and spice and steel – but where Tony’s kiss was gentle and hesitant, Anthony’s is deep, plundering Steve’s mouth and claiming it. His tongue is wicked, tracing the inside of Steve’s lips, tickling at his gums and twining around Steve’s own tongue. Steve, when he had dared to imagine what it might be like to kiss Tony, had imagined Tony’s lips would be skillful and warm, but he hadn’t anticipated the electric shock all the way down to his toes. He hadn’t expected to feel like kissing Tony was like coming home.

He wonders how Tony, the old Tony, the Tony that will exist when these two are merged back into one person – he wonders how that Tony will kiss him.

He wonders if that Tony will kiss him.

When Anthony finally pulls away to let Steve catch his breath, his pupils are dilated and his cheeks are flushed. Steve stares at him, enchanted. He’s never seen anything so beautiful.

Steve glances over to Tony, and he’s got the same debauched expression on his face. He’s pulled his sweater up over his head, and his chest, warm and glowing, is heaving a little with his breath.

“Is this okay?” he asks Steve, voice quiet, and what can Steve possibly say? It’s odd, sure. It’s maybe not how he’d meant to tell Tony, ‘hey, I like you’. He’s been with a man before, but he’s never been with men before. Plural. And it had always been a furtive, rushed thing in the dark, all bodies and heat and held aloft at arm’s length. It’s never been this open, whirling bright world of yes yes more yes.

And it’s definitely more than okay.

“Yes,” he says, making sure to put as much conviction into his voice as he can. “Yes, of course it is, I’ve wanted – I just didn’t think you –”

Anthony kisses him again, hard and rough and possessive, and then pulls back just as quickly. “Well, we do. We very much do.”

“Oh, fuck, I’m about to have a threesome with myself and Captain America,” Tony mutters, eyes tracking rapidly back and forth between Anthony and Steve. “Am I high? Did I just keep doing drugs in the 90s and never stop? Am I in a frat house at MIT, passed out in the bathtub surrounded by mushrooms?”

Anthony chuckles low in his throat at Tony’s words, but then he’s pulling both Steve and Tony toward the open workshop door, to the elevator.

“I think this will be much more comfortable in the penthouse, don’t you?” he says as the doors close behind them. Then Anthony turns and he’s kissing Tony, pressing him up against the wall of the elevator and ravishing his mouth, hands buried in Tony’s hair as he grinds against him, and Steve has never seen anything hotter than this in his entire life. It’s like everything he’d never dared fantasize about come to life and somehow like nothing he’d ever imagined. His cock, hard in his pants, throbs at the sight, at the wanton, needy noises coming from both of them.

He can’t move, frozen as he stares at the way Anthony devours Tony’s mouth, methodically taking him apart. It’s more than a claiming, it’s like a fusion of the two of them. Steve has dreamed about what it might be like, being kissed by Tony, but to witness what it’s like to kiss Tony, and be kissed by Tony at the same time… it’s more than a privilege. It’s something sacred, something Steve wants to burn into his brain and never, ever let go. At the same time, he has a sudden, hysterical stab of  jealousy that he’s not on the receiving end of those kisses.

Or the giving end. He wants to be the one making Tony make those sounds and scrabble at the elevator wall behind him.

The doors slide open, then, to the private penthouse, and Anthony finally pulls back. He’s disheveled and flushed, his lips swollen and his eyes dark, and Steve wants to press him back against the wall and take him apart.

Tony blinks at Anthony, then at Steve, and something in Steve’s expression must affect him, because Tony’s suddenly grabbing both of them by the elbow and hauling them out of the elevator, through Tony’s sitting room, through the open-concept main living area, and straight to the bedroom. He pushes them through the doorway, toward the bed, and then starts jerking at the fly of his jeans. Anthony grins devilishly, then turns to pull at Steve’s clothes, and Steve helpfully raises his arms to expedite the process.

He’s very, very invested in getting all three of them naked as soon as possible.

He works at his own khakis while Anthony starts to strip as well, and before long they’re all bare, golden skin and dipping muscle. Steve’s mouth goes dry as he looks at both of them, at their narrow waists and their strong arms and their round, plump rear ends. God, he’s wanted to get his hands on that for months.

Anthony and Tony are staring at him, too, eyes dancing up and down his body, and he knows what the serum did for him, but he’s still self conscious. When Anthony’s eyes land on Steve’s groin, at the way his heavy cock is hard and jutting out from his body, he licks his lips and shivers a little.

“Oh, merry Christmas to me,” he breathes, stepping forward. Tony moves at the same time, and then suddenly they’re both on their knees in front of Steve, both kissing and licking and sucking at his hips, his thighs, his groin, his balls. Everywhere but his cock, the flesh there hot and needy and desperate for contact. Their skin is golden and shining in the low light of the room, and Steve feels impossibly pale, like ice against their heat.

Steve puts a hand on each of their heads, fingers burrowing into the soft tresses, and moans as they kiss and suck.

He’d tried not to imagine this. The feelings he’s been hiding from Tony are complicated enough without the addition of inappropriate sexual fantasies. He’d tried to make himself content with daydreams of the two of them kissing, caressing, warm and sated and happy.

But sometimes… sometimes, he hadn’t been able to help himself, and his mind would wander, would put Tony on his knees at Steve’s feet, moaning wantonly while Steve fucked into his mouth. Taking him and claiming him and owning him. He’d imagined Tony’s hand working his own erection while he licked and sucked and swallowed around Steve’s length.

It’s nothing compared to the reality of this.

Tony sucks on the soft flesh of Steve’s balls, taking one into his mouth, and the wet heat of him is almost too much for Steve to bear. He moans and clenches his thighs, trying to stay upright. Then Anthony dips his chin and takes the head of Steve’s cock into his mouth. Steve cries out at that, his head whirling with sensation. He can’t help the minute thrusts of his hips, trying to get deeper into Anthony’s mouth, trying to get more, harder, wetter, but Anthony just goes with it, they both do, making pleased sounds in the backs of their throats as they drive Steve completely insane.

He lets them go on for a few moments, helpless to do otherwise, before he finally forces himself to pull their heads away from him. They’re both looking up at him with spit-shiny lips, glazed eyes, dilated pupils, and Steve burns the image into his memory, because he never wants to forget this.

“God, you’re both so beautiful like this,” he says, and it comes out hoarsely. He’s not even sure he’d meant to say it aloud, but Anthony grins mischievously, and Tony’s cheeks flush red with an adorable blush, and Steve doesn’t regret it at all. He loves seeing them like this, these two halves of his Tony’s personality, such stark contrast to one another but so perfectly in sync.

Except they’re not his Tony, are they? No, he doesn’t get to have that. What he gets to have is this night; this ridiculous, debauched night with the two of them. Nothing lasting, nothing that means anything to anyone but himself.

He’ll take it.

If he’d ever thought there was a possibility of Tony wanting something real, something romantic with him, he would have made his intentions known long before now.

Steve drops down to his knees and kisses Anthony hard, then Tony, keeping his hands in their hair as he goes back and forth, kissing them both over and over. At some point, when his mouth is on Tony’s, he feels Anthony licking at his ear, nipping at the artery down the side of his neck, beside his jaw, and his hands clench without permission.

“On the bed,” he finally forces out, and it sounds like an order but he doesn’t care. He can’t quite bring himself to let them go, though, and he leans in to kiss Anthony again, tongue seeking every inch of his mouth.

Tony pulls away, then pulls Anthony away with him, and Steve can’t help the sad whine he lets out at the loss of contact. But then Tony and Anthony are moving toward the bed, and he can watch them, the smooth lines of their backs and the round, fleshy curve of their rumps, and god, they’re beautiful.

Anthony goes around to the side of the bed and opens the drawer in the night stand. He pulls out a handful of condoms and a large bottle of lubricant, and Steve feels a little bit like he’s a child given the keys to the candy store. There’s so much he wants to do to them, he doesn’t know where to start.

Tony climbs up on the bed and settles onto all fours, sending Steve a look over his shoulder, and Anthony lets out a low chuckle and crawls up beside him, so they’re side by side, asses presented in Steve’s direction.

God, he really is dead and dreaming, isn’t he?

“The condoms are your choice,” Anthony says, jerking his chin toward them. “I’m – we’re clean, and the serum would take care of anything for you, anyway.”

“Do you mind?” Steve asks, voice rough.

“We’re good either way,” Tony says, and he shifts his knees apart a little more, just enough to spread the cleft of his ass so that Steve can get a glimpse of the clean, pink skin there.

He thinks about the condoms, about the mess he’s likely to leave on – in – one of them (both, maybe? If they’ll let him?), but decides it’s worth the mess if he’s just going to get this one time. He wants to feel the hot, slick slide of Tony’s skin, the heat and pressure of his body. He wants to claim Tony, wants to claim the man he’s been dreaming of for so long.

He wants everything.

He moves toward the bed and picks up the bottle of lube, pouring it liberally into the palm of one hand. He rubs his hands together to spread it, then reaches down to touch them both at the same time. Tony and Anthony both let out a huff of air at the first slick touch of Steve’s fingers tracing down the cleft of their asses, the light brush of his fingers over their holes.

Tony whines, then, and Anthony leans over and kisses him, taking control of Tony’s mouth in an instant. Steve watches, eyes wide and entranced, as he presses a finger into each of them, slowly and gently, just to relax the muscle.

They keep kissing and moaning into one another’s mouths as Steve works them, going from the tip of one finger to two, then to three fingers thrusting knuckle deep into them both. He’s alternating each hand, now, so that Tony cries out when Steve pulls his fingers out of Anthony, and Anthony cries out when Steve pulls his fingers out of Tony, rubbing the pads of his fingers over their prostates with each movement.

“Ambidexterity is the best thing that serum did for you, fuck,” Anthony moans, pulling his mouth away from Tony’s with a jolt.

“Please, please, please, please, please,” Tony is keening, as soon as his mouth is free.

Who is Steve to keep him waiting? He pulls his fingers free, and Tony cries out, shifting his hips back to seek more contact. Steve bends at the waist, pressing a kiss to Tony’s spine while he spreads lube from his slick hand over his cock.

He has to grit his teeth at the slick pressure of his own hand, the sensation reminding him just how hard his cock has gotten while he’s been engrossed in teasing these sounds out of the men on the bed.

“Please, fuck me, Steve,” Tony says, and Anthony thrusts back on Steve’s fingers, purring out a low sound.

“Yeah, fuck him, Steve. I wanna see my own face when he takes your cock.”

A shiver of lust runs up Steve’s spine, and he’s helpless to resist. He butts up close to Tony’s hips, slippery hand around the base of his cock as he guides it to the twitching hole there, and slowly starts to press in.

He tries to take his time, knowing his dick isn’t exactly small, but Tony is pressing back on him at the same time, rocking further and further until his cheeks are pressed flat against Steve’s hipbones, and Steve’s balls are brushing against the sensitive skin of his perineum.

“Oh, would you look at that,” Anthony sighs, whole body still as he stares at Tony’s face. Steve can’t see it from here, but the look of awe and wonder in Anthony’s expression is just as beautiful to look at.

He starts thrusting slowly, whole body rigid with the tightness of Tony’s hole around him. The slick heat of it is more than he’d imagined, and watching the way his cock stretches the rim around him is intoxicating.

“Oh, Steve, the look on his face,” Anthony breathes. “He’s loving this.”

“Yeah?” Steve groans, thrusting in again. He remembers himself then, and starts fucking Anthony with his fingers again as he moves. Anthony moans a little, then looks over his shoulder at Steve, eyes dancing.

“Oh, yeah. You’re gonna love this.” He turns back to face front, then speaks again. “Jarvis, give Cap a projection of Tony’s face on the wall over there.”

Suddenly, the bare white wall across the room lights up with a perfect, high definition rendition of Tony’s face. His eyes are dark and fluttering, half closed, and his mouth is slack and open. His lips are wet and shiny with saliva, and the column of his throat is arched.

The look on Tony’s face is pure ecstasy, complete bliss, and it rocks Steve down to his very bones.

He doesn’t think he can handle it if this is the only time he gets to have Tony like this. He wants to be able to look at that face, that expression, for the rest of his life.

He thrusts a little harder, angling his hips down a little and pressing his broad hand up under Tony’s belly, arching his back just enough to angle him – Tony cries out, eyes flying wide open then, and yes, there it is, his prostate, so Steve starts thrusting even harder, faster, pressing in deeply as he works to keep pressure on the sensitive gland inside Tony’s body.

“Mm, god, when is it gonna be my turn?” Anthony says, panting, and he spreads his legs a little further apart, presenting himself for Steve’s gaze.

Steve thrusts into Tony a few more times, and then forces himself to pull all the way out. Tony moans, and Steve’s eyes are locked on the way his hole is loose and open, clenching down on air for a moment, desperate to be filled again.

On second thought, he might not make it through the night.

He fills Tony’s empty, grasping hole with his fingers again, and shifts over to the right and lines himself up behind Anthony, pulling his fingers out at the same time.

“Fuck, yes,” Anthony says, wiggling his ass a little.

“Jarvis,” Steve says, face flaming with humiliation at talking to the AI at a time like this. At what he’s about to request.

It’s not enough to keep him from doing it though. “Jarvis, give me a projection of Anthony’s face, now.”

The space beside the footage of Tony lights up with a picture of Anthony, his expression going from surprised to pleased to almost proud in an instant, and then Steve is lining himself up, eyes staring at the projection in front of him.

He watches as Anthony’s eyes widen minutely, his jaw drops open, his chin juts out as he lets out a little gasp of pleasure. It’s beautiful, the way Anthony takes him.

Tony leans over, then, and kisses Anthony sloppily, mouth still somewhat slack with pleasure as Steve’s fingers move inside him. The wall projection shifts, so Steve is confronted with the wall-sized image of Tony and Anthony kissing, their lips shifting over each other, tongues dancing and licking inside one another’s mouths. It’s enough to drive him insane.

Anthony is as slick and hot and tight as Tony, but it’s somehow still different. Anthony pushes back, thrusting himself harder onto Steve’s cock right from the beginning, taking control where Tony had been more passive.

Steve watches his cock sliding in and out of Anthony’s body, the way Anthony’s rim stretches to accommodate him. He rests his hand on the small of Anthony’s back, the other hand still working his fingers in and out of Tony’s body beside him.

“How many – oh, fuck – how many times can you come?” Anthony asks him, and the words, the hoarse sound of his voice, send a shiver up Steve’s spine, making him jerk his hips a little harder, a little faster.

“More’n once,” Steve tells him, not slowing down his rhythm at all.

“Good refrac – fuck me, you’re good at that – good refractory period? The serum enhanced that, too?”

“Probably not on purpose, but yeah,” Steve says breathlessly.

“Good,” Anthony says. “That’s good, then.”

Tony interrupts their conversation by letting out a low whine, shifting his knees further apart. “Come on, Steve, come on,” he chants, canting his hips back. “I need – I need more –”

Steve can’t turn down a request like that.

He pulls his fingers out, ignoring the pitiful sound in Tony’s throat at the sudden emptiness, and clasps both hands around Anthony’s hips, pulling him in hard with every thrust, the impact of their bodies slapping together loud and fast in the room. He’s probably going too fast, he knows that, but he wants to make Anthony lose his composure, wants to make him scream and cry and beg.

Anthony is crying out with each thrust, hands fisting in the bedding as he scrabbles for a handhold.

“Tony,” Steve pants. “Tony, lay down under him, in front of him, so he can suck you,” he says. He can feel his face flush, a curl of arousal and shame at the dirty words coming from his mouth. But they don’t laugh at him – Tony moans and pants as he follows orders, climbing up the bed so he can position himself in front of Anthony. Anthony doesn’t hesitate, sucking Tony down to the root in one go. He buries his nose in the neatly trimmed dark curls around the base of it, swallowing convulsively, making little choking sounds.

It’s those sounds that make Steve’s hips stutter, makes his balls tighten and clench against his body. Tony wails, eyes frantic and unseeing as he whips his head from side to side, as though he’s trying to find a route away from the sensation, even as his hips press up, trying to get closer.

“God, you both – I’m gonna –” Steve cuts himself off, wondering if he should pull out, if he should stay where he is, if Anthony would mind –

Anthony shifts his hips up, thrusting back harder again, making a soft, muffled noise in his throat around Tony’s cock, and Steve takes that as permission. He thrusts again, again and once more and then he’s coming, vision white and flashing with fireworks, grinding his hips against Anthony’s ass, as though he’s trying to paint the inside of him with his own spend.

Anthony pulls his mouth off Tony, and when he speaks, his voice is hoarse and rough, abused. “That’s it, honey, you’re so good, you feel so good.” The murmured words are half nonsense, half praise, and by the time Steve’s orgasm wears itself out, his thighs are trembling, his knees feeling like liquid.

He pulls out slowly, watching the way Anthony’s hole drags at him, the way his thighs are clenched and bunching. Steve watches in awe as Anthony’s hole winks at him, loosely open and grasping at nothing. Then he fills that hole, that empty hole, with two fingers, the hot-slick-messy slide of his fingers in his own come enough to make his cock give another interested jerk.

He just needs a minute, and then he’s going to debauch them again. He wants to watch Tony come – he wants to watch them both come, watch them lose control and cry out and clench down on his cock, wants to spread their pert, round buttocks and watch them writhe on his fingers, his cock, his tongue.

After a moment, he pulls his fingers back out, watching a little trickle of come slip out after them.

Anthony rolls to the side, flopping onto his back, heedless of the mess he’s probably making on the bedding. He’s breathing hard, and his lips are bitten and swollen, his hairline sweaty.

“You know, I’ve wondered how you’d fuck someone since I was 14 years old. God, I can’t remember the last time I was fucked that hard,” he gasps. “Christ.”

“Are you – was I too –”

“Do not finish that thought. It was perfect.”

Anthony and Tony are both still hard. Tony is shifting needily, but he’s not stroking himself. Anthony has a lazy hand wrapped loosely around his dick, but he’s clearly not touching it with purpose.

Steve’s face flushes, and he shrugs one shoulder awkwardly, waving a hand vaguely near his hip, at his cock, which is starting to swell again. “Doesn’t have to be over,” he mumbles.

Anthony grins like a shark, tongue poking out to lick at his top lip.

“No, my dear, it certainly does not,” he says. He sits up, still breathing a little hard. “What do you think, honey? Wanna fuck him some more?” Anthony jerks a thumb to the side, indicating Tony, who is suddenly grinning as well. This one is a little less predatory, more joyful, more anticipatory, and it clenches something in Steve’s heart.

“That sounds like a great idea,” Tony says, and Steve is suddenly struck by the difference in him, the one he hadn’t noticed until this moment. Thinking back, though, he sees it now. When he and Anthony had first split into two people, Tony had been nervous, unsure, uncomfortable. Now, though, he looks like he’s comfortable, like he’s just enjoying himself, without any of the baggage.

Steve decides it’s a beautiful look on him.

“Yeah?” Steve says huskily, crawling up on the bed and straddling Tony’s thighs. He bends at the hip, bringing his chest closer to Tony, and Tony winds his arms around Steve’s neck, lifting his head up for a kiss. Steve obliges him with enthusiasm. They kiss for long moments, alternating between scorching heat and soft, gentle exploration.

After a bit, Steve feels Anthony crowd up beside them, laying on his side and propping himself up on his elbow. Anthony runs a hand through Steve’s hair, then keeps going, running his palm down Steve’s neck, down his back, to his ass, and then he’s cupping Steve’s buttock in one hand, squeezing gently.

Steve lets out a quiet moan, breaking his mouth away from Tony’s so he can nip and lick at his throat, which he arches helpfully.

“You’re always so controlled,” Anthony says, his voice low and whisky-warm. “I wonder what it would be like to make you lose that?” Anthony’s fingers dip, then, just carefully, into the cleft of Steve’s ass, brushing over the sensitive skin there.

His belly clenches with anticipation, and he lets out a soft groan, breathing out a “yes, please” into Tony’s throat.

Anthony gives a warm chuckle, and then his hand is gone – oh god no why come back – for a moment. The click of the lid on the bottle of lube, then his fingers are back, warm and slick and sure. He prepares Steve quickly, efficiently. Rubs at the furl of Steve’s opening to relax the muscle, slips a finger in, pushes lube inside. The stretch burns a little at first, it’s been a damn long time for Steve, but he gets used to it right away. His body remembers this, knows how to open for this. Another finger, and by the time the third one is in, Steve is alternating between sliding his cock alongside Tony’s erection and pressing back into Anthony’s talented hand.

“Tony, be a dear and roll over, will you?” Anthony says, and the hoarseness of his voice is in direct contrast to his conversational tone.

Tony makes a noise of pleasure, then pushes a little at Steve’s chest to give himself room. Steve pulls back and kneels up, turning his head to kiss Anthony. Anthony plunders his mouth while Tony shifts around underneath him, between his legs. His thighs and his hip brush against Steve’s balls, but he stays where he is, enjoying the tease of it – both the light sensation and the fact that Tony has to put so much more effort into rolling over like this.

Once Tony’s on his belly, he immediately starts shifting his hips, grinding his cock against the mattress, seeking friction and pressure. The cleft of his ass, still wet and shiny with lube, proves to be too big a temptation to ignore. Steve grabs the bottle of slick from beside Anthony, puts a little more on the head of his erection, and then uses his hand to tip it down, guide it into the furrow, slipping inside Tony’s still-open hole easily. Tony moans, a loud, guttural noise, and spreads his legs a little between Steve’s straddling knees.

Steve hinges at the hip, blanketing Tony’s back with his chest, enjoying the slide of skin against skin as much as he’s enjoying the tight, slick squeeze around his cock.

He hears Anthony shift, feels him butt himself up behind Steve. His fingers work at Steve’s hole, spread his cheeks, and then he’s being breached. Hot stretch of sensation, making his whole body zing, and he’s trying to thrust as carefully into Tony as he can, but when Anthony is doing that – god, how can that feel so good?

Anthony thrusts in a little at a time, then back out again, then a little farther, until he’s finally flush against Steve’s ass, cock all the way in, sheathing himself into Steve completely.

They all pause for a moment, and Steve is filled with a sensation of rightness, of belonging, of a warm bliss he hasn’t felt in ages. He wants to say something, wants to tell them – he loves them, both of them, and will love Tony when he’s back to one person just the same. That Tony is everything to him – joy and pain and lust and home. They need to know. They need to know how much he loves them.

“Shh,” Anthony breathes in his ear, as though reading his mind. “I know, honey. Me, too. There’ll be time for that later, okay?” It’s too quiet for Tony to hear, and Steve wants to argue, wants to shout his love from the rooftops, but he knows that right now isn’t the time. Anthony is right. Without Anthony’s influence, Tony just won’t have the confidence, the self esteem to believe Steve. Not right now.

He’s jerked unceremoniously out of his thoughts when Anthony smacks his ass, hard, the slap ringing in the room.

“Everybody all strapped in?” Anthony asks, his voice light and full of amusement.

“Please just fucking fuck me,” Tony gasps, writhing under Steve’s body. Steve can’t help it, he chuckles throatily, and then he pushes forward. The slick hot slide into Tony’s body is wonderful, but pulling away from Anthony’s cock, so close to empty, is horrible. Steve jerks backward, trying to fill himself again, but that pulls his cock out of Tony, and before he knows what’s happening, Steve is writhing, jerking between them. He pushes forward into Tony, then backward onto Anthony, and his whole body is on fire with the sensation. His toes are curling already, his hands covering Tony’s on the bed, lacing their fingers together as he keeps thrusting, pushing back, grinding between them.

Anthony shifts and then the angle’s changing, and he’s hitting Steve’s prostate with every thrust, fingers clamping around Steve’s thighs.

“God, Steve, you feel so good,” Anthony grunts, fucking into him. Tony is just whining, keening in pleasure, and then his whole body is going tense under Steve’s, his hole clenching and squeezing Steve’s cock. Steve knows he’s coming, can feel it in the way his whole body tenses and shivers and writhes. He glances up at the wall, and sure enough, Jarvis is still feeding him Tony’s face, and he can see the expression there as he comes. Tony’s mouth is slack and open as he cries out, his eyes closed, his face screwed up in pleasure-pain as he tips over the edge of release.

Steve keeps thrusting, chasing his own orgasm, and watching the feed of Anthony’s face above him. He’s triumphant and proud, eyes dark and sly as he moves his hips, thrusting against Steve’s prostate again and again.

Tony is starting to whine under him, gasping and shivering as Steve batters his prostate into oversensitivity, and he’s about to pull out, about to give Tony that relief, but Anthony’s hands tighten around his hips. “He likes it,” Anthony gasps. “Keep going, don’t stop.”

And who is Steve to argue with the man who knows Tony better than anyone on earth?

Steve doesn’t stop, keeps fucking into Tony as he writhes and shudders, as Anthony’s cock thrusts into him. He’s so close, he knows it, because now Tony is loose and soft and wet around him, and every slide in is slick and easy. Anthony, on the other hand, is hard as steel and hot inside him, stretching him open.

“God, Steve, god, you’re so fucking big, jesus, I’m gonna be feeling you for a week, this is fucking amazing,” Tony is mumbling into the pillow, and that’s what does it, the idea of Tony feeling this even after tonight. Steve wants that, wants Tony to feel him always, wants to feel Tony forever. Steve’s balls draw up, his thighs tremble, and he can feel himself clenching involuntarily, rhythmically, around the intrusion of Anthony’s cock. His own cock throbs, jerking and coming and filling Tony now, the same way he’d filled Anthony, and god, they’re both filled with his come, he’s marked them both, and they’re his his his.

And then Anthony is coming, too, and Steve can feel the rush of slick wet heat inside him, and the knowledge that Anthony has marked him, too, makes Steve’s cock give another pulse of pleasure. Anthony’s breath is hot on the back of his shoulder as Anthony slumps forward, and then they’re all sort of flopping over to the side, melting into the bed and breathing hard as they try to come down from the high of orgasm.

 

+++++

 

At some point during the night, they manage to shift themselves into the bed properly, under the covers. Steve curls up on Anthony’s chest, and Tony wraps himself around Steve’s back, and their breathing syncs up as they sleep.

It’s peaceful, and blissful, and perfect.

Which is why it’s such a horrible, unwelcome shock when the door bursts open. It’s Thor, looking triumphant and excited and holding a – is it a canteen? – above his head like a trophy.

“I have it, friends! With two days’ grace, I have the cure for the Vardygerian venom!”

Tony bolts up in bed first, staring at Thor in disbelief. His humiliation is truly completed as he spies Clint, Bruce and Natasha behind Thor. Tony can watch as Thor’s face slowly transitions from ‘proud conqueror’ to ‘unsure’ to ‘downright confused’ as he realizes what he’s just walked in on. Granted, they’d been asleep and weren’t actually doing anything right now, but the state of the bedroom makes it pretty obvious.

Clint’s eyes bug out in shock, and he starts laughing immediately. Bruce shows an ounce of decorum and turns away, looking flustered and nervous and uncomfortable.

Natasha just raises one eyebrow. There’s no other reaction from her. Just that one eyebrow. Mocking Tony with her implacability.

“I did not mean to interrupt,” Thor says, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. “Perhaps we should come back later?”

“Yes, please, later would be better,” and that’s Steve, words muffled in the blankets. He hasn’t moved, hasn’t looked, has barely reacted at all except to speak now. “Plenty later.”

Clint is laughing again, and Tony buries his face in his hands so he doesn’t have to see them anymore. After a moment, the door closes again, and Tony is left alone with Steve and Anthony, embarrassingly naked but thankfully covered with blankets.

Steve sits up then, and his face is beet red – Tony feels marginally better knowing that his seemingly nonchalant reaction had been a ruse.

“Well, that’s going to be awkward later,” Anthony muses, reaching his arms up to stretch his back.

Tony looks at Steve, whose eyes travel the length of Anthony’s chest as he arches his spine. Then Steve turns a bit so he can wrap an arm around Tony’s waist and haul him closer.

“How did you sleep, sweetheart?” Steve murmurs against his ear, pressing a feathery kiss to the lobe.

“Um, good?” Tony says. Sweetheart? That’s not really a one-and-done kind of nickname, is it? Why would Steve –?

“Didn’t get much of a chance to talk last night,” Steve says, rolling right over Tony’s train of thought. Steve glances at Anthony then, almost like he’s seeking an answer, or a blessing, and Anthony gives him a quick nod and a smile. Steve turns back to Tony and presses another soft kiss to his cheekbone. Steve’s stubble against his face is raspy, making him shiver a little.

“Hey, that’s okay, we all had a good time,” Tony says, a little breathlessly.

“Sure did,” Steve agrees lightly. “But that’s not what I was hoping to talk about.”

Tony’s stomach sinks. Here it is – the morning after let-down. He can’t say he hadn’t been expecting it, actually. This is Steve Rogers. This was never going to be more than a quick flash in the pan, obviously.

“I can see the gears turning in your brain, Tony,” Steve says, and his voice is soft. Fond, maybe? “I want you to know, this wasn’t just a – a one-time thing for me. I didn’t think you felt – felt the same, so I kept it to myself, but I – god, Tony, I love you. I love you like air.”

Speaking of air, Tony’s pretty sure it’s all gone out of the room. He freezes, rearing his head back to stare at Steve in surprise. “You’re who now?”

Steve smiles at him then, and it really is a fond smile. His eyes crinkle at the corners, and his full lips stretch and turn up at the corners, and Tony wants to kiss him.

“I’m in love with you. Have been for a while. I should have said something before, I know, but I didn’t think you – honestly, I didn’t think you liked guys.”

Tony blinks at him rapidly. “I… wait, you like guys?”

Steve gives him a Look then, flattening his mouth and glaring, and Tony shakes his head a little, trying to make any of this make sense, because of course Steve likes guys, Tony realized that when Steve had been balls-deep in Tony’s ass.

“I don’t… I don’t understand what’s happening right now,” he admits.

Anthony sits up, completely comfortable in his nudity, and turns to face them both.

“Sure you do,” he says, staring at Tony. “I mean, I know you don’t want to believe it, but you know it. Don’t try to pretend you don’t – or that you don’t feel exactly the same way.”

Tony’s head pounds with panic, he wants to deny it, laugh it off, make it all a joke, but… Steve is looking at him so earnestly, and his eyes are drowsy and soft still with sleep, and his lips are still a little swollen and puffy from their kisses last night, and Tony knows what Steve’s skin tastes like.

“I do,” he whispers, heart thudding in his chest. “I’ve loved you my whole life, and then I met you, and there was nothing to do but love you completely.”

Steve grins then, and it’s boyish and joyful and relieved, and then they’re kissing, laughing and touching and loving each other, all three of them.

Eventually, Tony breaks away for air. “Shouldn’t – shouldn’t we get up, call them back in with the antidote? Get things back to normal?” he pants.

Steve looks at him for a long moment, and then a grin spreads slowly across his face. It’s not the joyful happy smile from earlier – no, this one is all sex and lust and mischief.

“I think we can give it another hour or two, don’t you?” he says.

And who is Tony to argue?

 

END


End file.
